touch (scintillas)
The crew going to Amity's site to guard it for the evening make it to their outpost without delay. The paperwork is filled, and their rendezvous the next day is planned. Marrow and Harriet will be their relief; after guarding the colosseum for the night, they shall come back in the morning to replace Clover and Qrow in the midway checkpoint, leaving behind the foot soldiers who have joined them in the truck at Amity.
Harriet looks less than thrilled as she relays this fact, to which Clover can only laugh and reply, "Make sure you've got something to do so you don't get too lonely- you don't need to be attracting Grimm here."
"Are there a lot around?"
He shrugs. "We haven't actually had any encounters while we've been here."
She raises a brow. "Really? I would've thought they'd attack two people stuck alone in a heartbeat."
He winks at her. "You've just gotta think positively."
She rolls her eyes and waves Marrow along, ensuring that everything is in place before they set off into the evening, chasing the waning sunlight to the horizon. Clover has never been so excited to get rid of his teammates in his life.
The moment they can finally say they are officially off-duty, Clover and Qrow both let out a long, weary sigh. Qrow chuckles ruefully at him. "Let's get ready for bed?" he says, eyes barely staying open.
Clover beams, nodding, feeling himself heat up in anticipation. "Of course." So, the duo takes turns in the rudimentary lavatory within the station, brushing their teeth and washing up before slipping into their many layers, ready to face another freezing night. The alarm is set with plenty of time to clean up and refresh the room with linens and supplies in the morning. Clover cranks up the heat generators once again, their soft orange-red glow the only source of light once Qrow flicks off the main switch, casting the room in a gentle, fiery hue.
As usual, Clover is the first to act; he pulls the elder down to sit upon the bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. His heart falls as he takes stock of the situation, for he does not need to turn on the lights to see the elder's exhaustion, plain as day upon his face; tonight is not the night to push him too far. Clover does not mind the wait, though, despite the pinpricks of disappointment.
"Tired?" he murmurs, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Qrow's mouth, smiling involuntarily when he feels the man's stubble prick his chin.
The elder watches him wide-eyed, and Clover cannot tell if he blushes thanks to the heat generators; however, as his fingers trace Qrow's skin, he finds it burning hot to the touch. Qrow grins crookedly, brows furrowed in rueful want as he murmurs, "You know I won't be able to sleep after that stunt today."
"Which one?"
Qrow groans, eliciting a chuckle from Clover, one that warms their bellies and feeds their hearts; Clover can see his own joy and contentment mirrored in Qrow's eyes, for they have somehow managed to find a dynamic between them that feels so natural that it is baffling to see how it has only been two days since they have crossed the final boundary separating them.
Still, Clover does not want to prolong this just as much as Qrow; he smiles, slipping off his first layer, then his second, then his third. He keeps his eyes locked with Qrow as each layer is removed, working slower and slower until he is practically stilled, his body shifting in slow motion, moving through honey. It takes all he has to bite back his smile as Qrow grows more and more agitated, more and more unnerved, waiting to see what Clover has planned.
Brothers, the things Clover has planned- but the majority of those would do well within Clover's chambers. Not here.
So, he simply stops, raising the hem of his final layer, teasing the elder with a hint of skin painted coral in the lights. "You need something?" he teases.
Qrow sighs, leaning his head forward to rest against Clover's stomach. "Who taught you to be such a brat, hm?" he said quietly.
Clover throws his head back and laughs, then leans down to capture Qrow in a long, slow kiss. "You like brats, though, don't you?" Clover mumbles against his lips. As they move against one another, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and warmth, he grabs Qrow's hands and slides them under his shirt and against his skin, shivering as callused fingertips explore his stomach. His mouth moves away, his nose resting against the elder's as he grins, half-lidded and wanton, gently guiding Qrow by the wrists to slide his hands farther up Clover's stomach to his ample, powerful chest.
Qrow's hands freeze. Red eyes peer up at him anxiously, so sweet that Clover cannot help but lean back down and kiss his forehead overtop of dark hair. "I'm not going to break, Qrow," he soothes. "In fact, I'd like to see you try."
There is a tension there, a fear. Qrow is clearly so torn, so wary of how to proceed that it's almost heart-wrenching- how a man so beautiful could have been so neglected, been so forced to hide his own desires, he will never know- but as Qrow debates and ruminates and worries, Clover simply uses Qrow's hands to help slide the final shirt off his head.
He shivers. Despite the generators, it is still far too cold to be shirtless in this room; immediately, gooseflesh rises along his bare skin, hairs lifting, attempting to warm him up. He pays it no mind, though; his sole focus is on Qrow's face as the man turns even darker, eyes locked on Clover's chest, on pert flesh, on the two dark spots which contrast so perfectly against Clover's tan torso.
Clover grins. It is so cold- he has the perfect excuse. Crawling onto the cot, he moves the sheets aside and leans back against the wall, patting his thighs. "Come."
Obediently, Qrow listens, sliding clumsily onto Clover's lap, moving to straddle him just as they had done that morning. Before he can sit, however, Clover simply gathers the elder in his arms, tangles their legs together so Qrow cannot move, and pulls the blankets up around them.
Qrow is baffled, staring up at him owlishly, for this is clearly not what he had expected. The sight is adorable, and Clover can only wish he had his Scroll with him. His memory shall have to do, unfortunately. Shrugging, he kisses Qrow again before moving to almost cradle the man, the elder's face against his large chest.
Then, Clover simply closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, and waits.
It does not take long. It begins with a suckle at his collarbone, teeth scraping tenderly, so afraid to hurt. Those lips trail downwards, leaving behind wet bruises, the colour purple in the gentle, fiery glow; Clover watches gooseflesh rise along the trail as cold air assaults his senses in Qrow's wake. A nose brushes against his nipple, soon to be replaced by a tongue, tentative and unsure, flicking, explorative- Clover holds his breath as it brushes him again, once, twice, thrice, discovering the taste of his skin slowly. Clover sinks into the pillow behind his back, shivering every time that tongue retreats, leaving him shivering and sensitive and waiting, flesh pert, begging for more. Those lips always come back, however, and soon, Qrow has found a rhythm: open-mouthed heat, scratching teeth dragging across, inhaling, suckling; a sigh, breath hot for just a second before the icy Solitas air strikes; the brush of a nose, lips wrapping around, tugging, insistent; and then, a kiss. Repeated again and again, moving across his sternum to never leave one side unfulfilled, red eyes meeting his as he watches through thick lashes down the bridge of his nose, feeling his own need and want mount until he is almost desperate; but he does not move, does not ask, does not control. He is simply there to serve, to feed, and he is eaten happily until they are weary and their eyes droop close, Qrow's face resting between Clover's large, muscled breasts. Clover's want is left untouched in the best way, for Qrow's warmth presses into him so innocently that he cannot bear to ask for more.
There is time, and the sting from Qrow's teeth upon his flesh lingers, and that is enough for now.